The Tormented Scribe
by licormice
Summary: A mysterious records-keeper of some sorts is running away from an infinitely more mysterious adversary. Trying to leave Fallen London, he attempts to find a ship to help him escape.
1. The Towering Captain

**I do not own Sunless Sea. Sunless Sea is owned by Failbetter Games.**

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"A ship please!" I yelled, waving my arms as I stood alone on Wolfstack Docks, zailors and captains walking past me, ignoring me. "I can be of help! All I need is a ship!

 _I've been doing this at least a few hours, and I've gotten nowhere,_ I thought to myself, _might as well take a break. It's not like I'm in too much of a hurry, anyway._

I sat down on a nearby bench, looking anxiously around the gas-lit harbor. They couldn't find me here. Not as quickly as they would wish, considering the huge crowd here. I dug through my bag and pulled out a half of a loaf of mushroom bread.

Just as I was about to take a bite, however, I noticed a particularly tall zee captain sifting through the crowd, heading in my direction. They didn't look like they were from the Bazaar, so they probably weren't dangerous.

As she finally made it to the bench where I was sitting, I could see more of her features. Her long, auburn hair was almost waist-long (which was saying a lot, considering that she was at least seven feet tall) and very messy. She wore a standard captain's outfit, which was stained a silvery color at the bottom. The most discerning feature about her was the long scar that ran across her cheek, and the eyepatch that covered it up.

"'Ello, good sir!" she greeted enthusiastically with a thick, high-pitched, Cockney accent that betrayed her gruff looks, reaching for my free hand and giving me a rather awkward handshake. "I 'eard you yellin' earlier 'bout needin' a ship." She paused, and looked at me quizzically. "That was you wasn't it.

"Yes, yes it was," I confirmed, "Are you willing to let me on yours?" I took a bite out of the mushroom loaf as the captain smiled jovially and replied,

"Depends. What'cha good at?"

"I have a good memory. I can also draw maps fairly well." These skills of mine were required from my time as a scribe at the Echo Bazaar.

"Good," the tall zailor said, "I need a new navigator. Las' 'un died a few days 'go." She rummaged through her Echo purse as she added, "How much?"

It took me a moment to realize what she meant, "Oh... I wasn't really thinking that I needed to get paid." She eyed me curiously.

"Then why d'you wanna go to zee so badly?" She fastened her coin purse back around her waist and sat down next to me. "You runnin' 'way from somethin'?"

"No, of course not," I lied, I just want some adventure in my life." I couldn't tell her the truth. If she new what was after me she would never let me aboard her ship.

"A lo' o' zailors say the same thing," she said, tapping her fingers on her purse, which made a delicate clinking sound, "I have to warn ya though, the zee is no' kind to those who zail it."

 _The zee is a lot safer than London for me right now,_ I wanted to argue, but instead I answered, "I know, but I'm willing to take the risk."

"Well said," she replied, then asked, "Mind tellin' me your name?"

"I'm, John Cicero, The Tormented Scribe," I told the tall zee-captain, lying, of course.

"The Tormen'ed Scribe..." she pondered, shaking her head, "You go' a funny accent, you ain't from 'round 'ere, are ya?"

"I'm from the Surface... I'm from America actually," I half-lied, I remembered the old saying about trapping yourself in a web of lies that only gets harder to escape the more lies you tell. I could already see that my web was going to be comparable to those webs built by the Sorrow-Spiders in The Nativity.

Her eyes widened, and she said excitedly, "I've never met anybo'y from America. What's i' like? What part o' the Surface are you from? Are the Sun and Moon as bright as they say"

"America is..." I struggled to find an answer that could satisfy our questions, "...brighter than London... I guess?" I silently cursed myself for creating such a terrible description of the land above. It really shouldn't be this difficult for me. I've been to the Surface more times than I can count.

But apparently the zee-captain thought I was only jesting. "C'mon, stop teasin' me. I want to hear your stories," she said, with a smile, which, like her accent, betrayed her rough and tough appearance.

"I mean... it would be impossible to tell you everything about the Surface and all of its wonders in a few sentences." Nice save. "It would be easier for me to tell you about my adventures over time, which would be easier if you let me go with you." I could make up a very reasonable argument on the go if I needed to. "Plus, I'm free labor ."

"It's a deal!" the captain confirmed happily, "I'm Amanda Wallsworth, the Towerin' Cap'n, my ship's jus' righ' o'er 'ere." she pointed her right middle finger (the right index finger was gone) to a fairly large corvette. " 'er name's _The Myrmidon."_

"It looks wonderful." _Wonderful enough to get me away from this cursed town,_ I thought to myself. To be perfectly honest, though, it _was_ a fairly nice ship. It was well washed, and it almost had no dents on it at all, a rare sight, considering the fact that ships are constantly bombarded by sea monster attacks.

"Wanna come 'board with me?" Amanda asked, we're about to leave port."

"Sure," I said hiding my fears, "this'll be great."

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 **Sorry for the short intro. It's been a while since I posted anything. I am currently working on a story for Huniepop, and a story for Percy Jackson. Since school starts tomorrow, it may be a while till my next post. Thank you!**


	2. The Seasoned Sea-Man

**I do not own Sunless Sea. If I did, I wouldn't be writing cruddy fanfics about it.**

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 _Nothing much has changed around here, according to the captain that is. The huge mansion is still standing, and the sisters are unharmed. After a swift reconnoiter of the island, the sailors and the captain had lunch with the sisters in the grand hall. I, of course, did not join them as I dislike crowds and get uncomfortable during particularly frightening stories. I needed to write out this port report anyway._

 _I'm not sure of what to think of the maid. She is strange, inhuman even. If I was ignorant, I would say she is a demon or devil, but devils have red eyes, not yellow. Plus, most devils don't crawl around on all fours and growl at new visitors as if they were a dog._ The _sisters don't seem to mind her. I honestly don't know how one could sleep knowing a thing like that could be roaming the house in which you live. Maybe the sisters don't sleep. Perhaps I should check their cupboards for any Darkdrop beans._

 _-John Cicero on Hunter's Keep, The Tormented Scribe_

I put down the pen and looked at my journal, mostly disappointed in my report. Hunter's keep was fairly normal. Well, about as normal as you can get in the Neath. Hopefully the rest of the islands we visited wouldn't be this bland, or else my job of making interesting port reports would be quite difficult.

I put the pen and paper into my bag and walked towards the house. As I made it to the front door of the large mansion, I could hear the sailors clamoring in the hall. The sounds of laughing, talking, and screaming filled the air.

Wait? Where is the screaming coming from?

 _It must be in of the cellars,_ I thought as I opened the front door of the grandiose house. As I rushed down a stone spiral staircase, I saw a bewildered-looking sailor with a large beard also heading down the stairs. I nodded to him, and without a word we both knew that we were going after the same thing. The source of the screaming.

As we reached a wooden trapdoor, the bearded sailor opened it and I jumped down. I deftly softened my fall. I immediately saw where the screaming was coming from.

The youngest sister (Phoebe? Was it?) was backed into a corner, yelling her lungs out as tiny spiders swarmed the walls and floor around her. They were kept at bay by her candlelight, but the wax of her candle now only formed a stub, and soon, once the light faded away, the spiders would swarm.

I took a lit torch off of the wall and rushed towards the screaming sister. The spiders were nowhere near big enough to be sorrow-spiders, yet they were just as repulsive and violent. Maybe they were close cousins to the wicked, eye-thieving arachnids despised by most Londoners.

I crushed several spiders under my feet as I swung the torch low, causing most of the spiders to retreat to the walls. I forcefully grabbed Phoebe's arm and led her through the corridor, back to the ladder, where the bearded sailor I was with earlier reached out his hand.

As I lifted her small body, Phoebe grabbed onto the sailor's hand and pulled her out of the cellar. But as I was climbing up the ladder, the torch slipped from my hands. Almost, instantly, tiny spiders swarmed around my legs and crawled up all over my body. I writhed in pain as thousands of tiny legs scuttled all over my skin.

Then they started biting.

I cried out as tiny bursts of pain peppered every single part of my body that I could think of. Slowly, I climbed up the ladder. I almost blacked out from pain, but then the sailor lifted me up the rest of the way up. The closer I got to the light of the ground floor, the more spiders would fall off my body.

Evetually, I was lifted out of the cellar. The sailor quickly closed the door. I slowly got up. My entire body felt as if it was on fire. I plucked an particularly hardy spider off of my cheek, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it, probably enjoying it more than I should've. Judging by the laughter coming from the dining hall, nobody else had heard any of the screaming.

Phoebe was colapsed on the floor with her head in her hands, sobbing loudly. I carefully approached her and tenderly asked,

"Are you alright?" But when she put her hands down and looked at my bite-covered face, she yelped and started sobbing louder. Eventually, she said, through choked sobs,

"I-I'm sorry." She kept sobbing as loud as a surly drunk.

"Don't be sorry," I said softly, "I'm alright." I was actually _not_ alrigh. I was bitten in places where nobody should be bitten. Nevertheless, I consoled her, placing my hand on her shoulder. That's when I noticed a bruise starting to form on her right arm. That was where I yanked her to get her to run away from the arachnid abominations.

"Good Christ, I'm sorry," I said carefully examining her bruise. I didn't know how hard I pulled her.

"D-Don't be," Phoebe said, her sobbing had quieted down, but tears still streamed down her face, "You saved my life, thank you."

She smiled. It was a beautiful smile.

The bearded sailor, who was rummaging through a medicine box, said,

"Just hold on," he pulled out two tonics from his bag and handed one to me, and one to Phoebe. "Drink those," he commanded with a gravelly voice. I took a swig, used to the bitter flavor of healing tinctures. Phoebe obviously wasn't, as she tried to take a drink, she coughed and spat some of it out, but she managed to wash down most of the bottle.

My bites started to get less painful. It would probably take me about three days before they stop hurting. Phoebe's bruise, on the other hand, was already healing, changing from a wine colored purple, to a yellow-green color of sunlit fields.

"Thank you," both Phoebe and I said to the sailor, but Phoebe continued,

"What is your name, kind sir?" The sailor uttered a short grunt, which I assumed was a laugh, and said,

"No need to call me 'sir', young miss. The name's Kolten Fourpence, the Seasoned Sea-man." He smiled showing us a mouth full of broken teeth. Even tinctures and potions can't heal everything.

"How about, you?" She said, her deep green eyes focused on me, "What's your name?" I politely answered,

"Jack Cicero, at your service," I stood up and gave her a bow. She smiled sheepishly and said, blushing,

"Thanks for saving me from those spiders. I was fetching a special bottle of wine from downstairs. I was wanting to share it with Amanda, but then those ugly spiders showed up and-well... you know the rest."

"I'm probably going to go visit the others and tell them what happened." She wiped tears from her eyes and said, one final time, "Thank you." She walked through the long corridor, and walked through the open doorway to the dining hall, leaving me alone with the old, bearded sailor.

After a moment of silence, Kolten chuckled quietly. I eyed him curiously and asked,

"What're you laughing about?" He turned to me and said,

"Looks like someone's got the hots for you." He smiled with his half set of teeth. "I remember what young love was like."

My face grew very warm and red. I wanted to tell him that in chronological age, there were many people who would consider him young. But I stuck with my better judgment and just said, "We're not in love of anything, we just met. She was just happy that I saved her, that's all."

"Then why didn't her face get all blushed up when she looked at me?" He performed an obviously feigned look of jealousy. I sighed and retorted,

"Maybe because you weren't the one who saved her life and got eaten up by som goddamned spiders in return for it."

"Hey fellow," He said, his face turning serious, "That was a fine thing you did back there. I would've jumped down to, but these old bones aren't meant for that kind of stuff."

"Umm... thanks," I said, slightly thrown back by his changing behavior, "I'm probably going to go eat with the others now."

"Alright," he said but as I turned around and started to walk away, he asked,

"Why did you tell that girl your name was Jack?"

I stopped in my tracks and replied, "Pardon me?"

"Well, it's just that you told that young lady that your name was Jack. I might've misheard the captain, but I'm pretty sure she said your name was John."

 _Damn_ , I thought to myself, I must've forgotten my fake name. "Oh," I said quickly, trying to act as nonchalantly as I could, "My real name is Jack, but I like to go by John.

"Of course," the leathery-skinned sailor, said. I didn't know if he was looking at me suspiciously or not, because I left without looking back. I thought to myself,

 _I wonder if the sisters have any cake._

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 **I am trying to make a completely original story based around the world of FL and SS. I hope you enjoy it.**


	3. The Fidgety Physician

**I do not own Sunless Sea, Failbetter Games does.**

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 _So far the trip to the tomb-colonies has been... interesting, to say the least. Immediately after we set foot, one of the nearly deads that was being delivered... Well, they exploded. That is not a typographical error. The poor soul doubled over as if she was going to throw up, then she burst apart, leaving only a pile bandages behind. They did have a calvary sword on them, so I'm going to have someone polish it onboard_ The Myrmidon.

 _I haven't been able to find any important news from any of the colonists. They only grumble about the same politics and opinions as they had for ages. No news of any Khaganian ships docking, no news from any masked delegates from Visage, and no news of any of the northern settlements getting into trouble. There was nothing._

 _However, despite the lack of information I have been able to acquire from the tomb-colonies concerning other settlements in the Neath, I do have news of the winner of the elections for the New Curator. It appears that Lillian LeBeau, the Chuckling Commander has won. Take this news however you like, as I know she has an equal amount of those who supported her and those who disagreed with her in London, but do keep in mind that the trade sanctions that the Commander promises to place on Venderbright will strongly hurt London's economy._

 _-John Cicero on the Election of Venderbright_

Personally, I supported Randolph, the Fallen Philosopher, who promised the lifting of trade sanctions and would have allowed nearly-dead non-human dwellers of the Neath such as rats, Rubbery Men, and devils (though I don't know of any devils who would willingly become a tomb-colonist) to live in Venderbright.

Randolph was easily the least supported candidate of the election, and it was obvious as of why. The only people allowed to vote were nearly-dead _citizens_ of the tomb-colonies, which led to non-humans having no opinion in the Venderbright elections.

I found it sickening when people only cared about what benefited their own personal satisfaction. I thought that people should make decisions based on whatever would help the most people out, but I knew that in the Neath, where thieves, pirates, and worse roamed with barely any opposition, this was not the popular view.

I put my political thoughts to the side as I ventured down an old, sloped cobblestone road, looking for any information that I could record in my next report of the tomb-colonies.

Then I heard a gurgling yelp.

I rushed past a large stalagmite and found three people on the other side chuckling as they hudled around a Rubbery Man.

One of the people around the squid-faced man was tall, yet extremely thin and lanky. Despite his unbelievable skinniness, the man's unblemished face was quite handsome. He carried a large, skyglass knife at his side. The other human was the polar opposite; short, fat, and had a face covered in so many scars it was difficult to tell it was a living person's. He carried a large, iron club on his back.

Then there was a tomb-colonist. She was not laughing with the others, yet, under her bandaged mouth, a sadistic grin hid underneath. Other than that, I couldn't tell much about the bandaged woman. I did, however, see her armed with a curved calvary sword, similar to the one I had acquired from the exploded tomb-colonist.

The Rubbery Man was one of the most pitiful creatures I had ever seen. Similarly to the fat man, the squid-person's face was a mess of scar tissue. There were also some fresh wounds on his body. I realized with my heart sinking low, that the three people must've been stoning the Rubbery Man for fun. The worst part is how the Rubberyman held his head low, as if he really was the problem.

The tall, handsome one noticed me, and his beautiful face twisted into a hideous scowl. He stared at me with contempt and said,

"I didn't know they had Injuns in the Neath." He looked back at his comrades, who smirked. The Rubbery Man started to inch away from its abusers, until the fat man barked,

"You! Squidface, stay here!" The Rubbery Man held its head down again, ashamed as if he had done something wrong. Then the scarred man handed me a sharp rock and said, pointing to the abused non-human, "Let's see if the Injun can throw as well as he can shoot a bow."

I ignored their pitiful attempts at jokes meant to offend me and looked at the squid man. His eyes met mine, and I saw an expression that I could only assume was half sadness, and half acceptance. I tossed the rock on the floor and stared at the trio of miscreants, saying, my words full of contempt, "The one who has not sinned may throw the first stone." They eyed each other nervously. I don't think they understood the reference. I continued, pointing to the Rubbery Man "And, by the looks of it, this fine sir is the only one of us here who is eligible for that."

The Rubbery Man made a quick, cheerful gurgling noise, but then stopped when the handsome man glared at him. Then the fat man offered me another rock, saying, "Trust me. You want to throw the rock." That's when I noticed the skinny man was behind me, hand on the hilt of his dagger. I suddenly dealt very afraid for my life.

The three thugs grinned at me with sadistic smiles. I almost considered throwing the rock at the squid-man, but with another look at his scarred face made me ashamed for thinking that.

The sense of fear that I was feeling changed into rage. How dare these people hurt this man, who did nothing to them! How dare they insult my people! How dare they try to force me to hurt an innocent person!

"Watch out, the Red-Skin's angry," the skinny man jeered sarcastically. "Be careful that he doesn't scal-" I interrupted him by spinning on my heels and punching him square in the nose, putting all of the raw rage I had pent up into the blow. A surge of pain shot of my right arm as the thin man flew a few feet away from me.

The fat man blindly and clumsily swung his bat horizontally at me. I rolled to the side, expertly, easily dodging the wild swing. I kick him twice in the shins, and once in the face. The tomb-colonist slashed at me with her saber, but I was too quick. I dodged it, then sidestepped a stab, which skewered the fat man's stomach. His face contorted with pain as he fell on the ground.

The tomb-colonist stabbed again, and I dodged likewise, but this time I grabbed her sword by the hilt, twisted her bandaged hands around and thrust the sword through her chest.

The tomb-colonist looked slightly annoyed, but also slightly amused, like someone who had lost a witty child's bet. Finally, she said, "Good job," and left, sword still impaled through her chest.

I looked at my split fist, which was covered in blood, some of it my own, and some of it the handsome, skinny man. I looked at his face, which, after my brutal slug to his skull, his face wasn't so pretty anymore. Then, I noticed he was dead. I had killed him with a single punch. He would wake up later, and maybe become a nearly-dead.

The Rubbery Man, who hid behind a stalagmite during the fight, slowly cane out of his handing spot. He put his hands over his face in despair. He bent down towards the corpses and started to sob, as if they hadn't tried to just kill him. I approached the Rubbery Man and comforted him. After a few minutes of sobbing, I asked him, "What's your name, sir?"

"My name is Flynn, the Fidgety Physician," he responded, with a very clear voice for a squid-man. I understood him perfectly, something that rarely happens when I talk to Rubbery Men. I wondered why his voice was less gurgly than the others of his race, but I decided right now wasn't the best time to ask him about it.

"John?" I heard a familiar voice yell. Amanda ran down the stone walkway, along with two other zailors. When she saw the bodies, she gasped, "Good Christ! Wha' 'appened 'ere?" I shrugged and said,

"A few guys tried take make me stone this person to death." I motioned to the Rubbery Man, who gurgled sheepishly. "That didn't work out for them... obviously."

"Well what're we gonna do abou' this 'ere Rubbery Man?" Amanda asked. "I don't think we should leave 'im." I nodded in consent.

"We should bring him with us, if that's okay with him."

"I'm a doctor, so I can help with injuries," the physician said in his perfect voice. He pointed to my broken hand. "Starting with that first, of course."

And then, despite some minor complaints from other sailors, we had brought the Fidgety Physician onto our boat.


End file.
